Ghosts of the Past
by Zoey Overbeck
Summary: "The room next door was harder to open, and Zoey had to use her full weight to get the door to dislodge from its resting position. Strangely though, the door swung open with an eerie creak, as if an unseen presence was welcoming her inside."


Various pieces of debris loudly crunched underfoot- a mix of broken stone, splintered wooden beams, twisted metal, and shattered glass. A thick, musty odor hung in the air, permeating the unused building and highlighting its severely decayed state. Stairs leading to the building's upper levels were partially collapsed and made it difficult for anyone to pass. Skeletons of decayed bodies with various weapons beside them lay everywhere- a reminder of the terrible world that once was.

One person cautiously stepped through a corridor, nose in the crook of her elbow and a half-filled sack on her back, shaking every so often as the putrid scent- made even worse by the summer's heat- practically gagged her. The wallpaper was peeling off of the walls and paint was thoroughly chipped. Once in a while, she saw bullet holes marring several of the said walls and lightly touched them with her dancing fingers, reminding herself of her hardships. The rotten wood that served as the flooring creaked loudly with the person's every step and the stagnant water that had pooled there over the years sloshed everywhere. Mosquitoes and flies took flight at the disturbance like a black wave and soon their noisy, incessant buzzing filled the air.

However, Zoey ignored them and entered another room, lowering her arm but tightening her other hand around one of her prized pistols at the same time. These weapons had gotten her through hell and high water, and she loathed the very idea to surrender them. Besides, who knew if the violent roving gangs were occupying this very building.

The Florida Keys was a good place that she and the other two survivors could stay- for a little while, at least. Being left alone for at least 6 months had some perks, mainly the beach, a more tolerable winter, and a fresh supply of seafood. Then, other survivors sailed or flew to where they were staying, little by little, disrupting the peace as they trickled in. And then the military, catching wind of these operations and fearing another possible outbreak, invaded the islands and started to shoot anyone they still suspected to be infected in some manner.

Obviously targeted due to their 'carrier' status, she, Louis, and Francis had barely escaped with their lives on "One 4 All", the same sailboat that had taken them to the keys. From the very instant of their departure, they were pursued from mainland Florida all the way to Pennsylvania, where they had managed to lose both their trackers and their sailboat in the process. Now, they were forced to restart again, barely scraping a living with the barest essentials of life and multiple dingy places they called "homes".

The aforementioned room was completely in shambles and she shook her head after briefly looking it over, knowing that there was hardly any chance of being able to salvage any usable equipment, and left without a second thought.

The room next door was harder to open, and Zoey had to use her full weight to get the door to dislodge from its resting position. Strangely though, the door swung open with an eerie creak, as if an unseen presence was welcoming her inside. Cold air rushed by her and she shivered, chills racing up and down her spine. Unlike the other ruined parts of this building, this apartment was downright creepy, as if the ghost of its owner resided here.

The room, like all others, was cold and generally unpleasant, but it was surprisingly untouched by any of the numerous gangs of vandals and scavengers. Unlike the hallway, though, this room had a slightly more tolerable scent, and the woman was grateful. It was reminiscent of the odor of the sewers she had trekked through to find her way to Mercy Hospital a _long _time ago.

Clothes lay scattered everywhere, and old beer cans lay about the room. Thin streams of light from the mid-morning sun barely made it through the thick layers of dirt and dust coating the glass. There was very little furniture and an even fewer amount of objects that one might decorate his or her abode with. Stepping into the apartment's only bedroom, she saw one photo of an unnamed woman, another of a frowning boy with a dog, and the last with two other people- presumably the boy's parents- occupying the room's dresser drawer. Very little else was in the room- just a lamp, a chair, a closet, and a sparsely decorated bed.

She swore she heard movement and a whispered voice in the far corner of the room, but when she whirled around in its direction, nothing was there. Terrified, she whipped her head to and forth, eyes scanning every object in the room. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and sweat began to bead on her forehead. Pressure registered on her shoulders as if somebody was comfortingly placing his or her hands on her and a small squeak of terror escaped from her lips. The flooring underneath her heavily worn converses creaked loudly as Zoey warily backpedaled and hastily departed from the room.

Slightly unnerved, she riffled through the various nooks and crannies within the apartment, happily exclaiming every time she found an immensely helpful item. Her team would be pleased with her finds. For them, anything of potential value was not to be wasted.

She finished the rest of her inspection of the tiny living space and turned to leave when an unlocked truck in the corner caught her attention. She stared at the corner it resided in, cocking her head to the side in puzzlement and wondering why she had not noticed it before.

It seemed to have an aura of intense sadness, loss, and mystery, and Zoey could not bring herself to contain her curiosity. She crept over to it; her breath hitched in her throat as she approached it, wondering what treasures it held. Her green eyes were concentrated on the single item as her soft, scarred hands pushed the lid open and she looked inside.

An assortment of damaged items lay within, ravaged by time. Hardly anything was inside, save for the dirty, moth eaten clothing that was heavily soiled by an unknown event and a manilla folder containing heavily garbled information. She snorted, disappointed at the trunk's contents and moved to shut the lid. However, one object that remained more or less intact stood out, and she reached for it to take a better look. There was a cut through its middle, but it nevertheless was in good condition.

Careful not to agitate the tear any further, she lifted the picture to her face and frowned. A nagging feeling at the back of her mind started to nettle her and she roughly pushed it aside and knit her brows, concentrating. She felt that there was something... familiar about one of the people within the photo, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. She needed one more moment to think and-.

"Zoey, don't forget Rochelle and Nick are coming over to visit us soon."

Startled, the woman turned her head three quarters over her shoulder to face her longtime companions waiting outside of the door and smiled.

"Yeah, I know" she replied, turning back to the photo and deciding to leave it behind in the apartment, where it belonged.

The thin piece of paper slipped from her hands and fluttered to the dusty floor, where it lay as Zoey slowly stood up, rejoined Francis and Louis, and left the apartment.

Behind her retreating form, the light shone through the dusty, shattered window panes and fell on the photograph. The young form of William Overbeck dressed in his army fatigues stared at the ceiling with a familiar hard gleam in his eyes and a grim expression set in his face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Not quite how I wanted it, but it came out all right nonetheless. It was originally Zoey exploring the ruined remains of her campus (inspired by wandering around on my campus on Saturday and trying _not_ to trip over the _tons _of stairs in the dark).


End file.
